Title: How I Spent My Summer Vacation
Rating: PG - Gen - Humor - (Not a Crossover, just Dork!Sam)
Spoilers: None for SPN - Major Spoilers for BSG S1
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: When Dean gets time off he hits the bars. When Sam gets some time off he hits the remote...
Life turned out to be a long series of equivalents for guys like them.
Dean thought it had a lot to do with the fact that they never paid much attention to the practical use of the calendar. All those little boxes that ticked your life away always had little typed messages in them as to what and how you should spend that day. Dad had used the space for his own notes. Tides and lunar cycles. The equinox and the harvest. There had never been a count down to Christmas or a mention of whether or not some big fat ground hog had spotted its big fat shadow.
Growing up, their version of summer vacation was whenever Dad had decided it was easier to let his children spend a few weeks with one of his many cohorts instead of following him into whatever deep dank places he needed to be. Birthdays were misplaced until convenient or remembered. Gifts were never the trivial and frequent, but monumental and without any formal occasion behind them. Dean didn't mind. He squeezed the steering wheel briefly, listening to the engine smoothly change gears. Some presents were worth an entire lifetime of gameboys, tube socks and mountain bikes.
Everything they did was interchangeable or near unrecognizable with their counterparts that moved parallel in the real world. But one thing was almost exactly the same.
They couldn't always request it quite exactly and sometimes it lasted a little shorter or longer than anticipated, but it was there for the taking nonetheless. However, when and how it arrived was always kind of an exciting mystery.
The last time they had gotten a full week off was because Sam had gotten spectacularly ill from whatever bird flu ebola anthrax monkey pox virus that was going around last winter. Forgoing consciousness after Dean had procured him some antibiotics, Dean had spent the days sleeping in a king sized bed and the nights hitting the bars around the down town of Denver. The time before that was when the entire transmission had to be replaced and they just had happened to ground to an exploding halt in Las Vegas. Before that it was...
Dean paused to think.
Before Vegas he couldn't even remember when they'd gotten to do close to nothing. But this time around was a little different. Well, different almost in its normalcy. This time around they were house sitting.
He parked the car up alongside the pleasant split level colonial suburb abode and smiled to himself.
White shingles, cozy shutters on the windows, a shiny brass door knocker and those concrete sculpted vases that had flowers flowing out of them on either side of a red door. There were cookie cutter copies of the same house up and down the street. All the same except their colors and lawn ornaments. But he bet none of these identical homes were the same on the inside. Not like this one anyway.
It was always semi-amazing what you could hide in plain sight. This house belonged to someone Dad knew from way back. And although the outside was a picture perfect of middle class bliss, inside was quite a different story. Especially the basement.
Sam answered the door. Glancing carefully up and down the street, he blocked any entry with his arm.
"You want me to recite a fuckin' password?" Dean asked.
Sam took one more look down the block before granting him access and beginning the arduous process of resetting the array of locks.
"I don't want to end up in Guantanamo Bay for a guy that sells shell casings filled with salt, Dean."
The house belonged to a man that was in South America on business. The kind of business that could get you in a lot of trouble no matter what exactly your intentions were. That was the tricky thing with their lives and the law, they weren't very sympathetic to hunters that shopped in the same manner as the ones that didn't have humanity in mind.
The guy was also of the typical paranoid variety that didn't like leaving his home at all let alone unattended. They had owed him a few favors anyway. And besides, who could turn down a few free of charge days in a house with a stocked fridge, clean beds and easy access to the local college bars? Plus all he asked in return was that they water his stupid house plants and bring in his mail which consisted mostly of military newsletters, survivalist magazines and Bed, Bath and Beyond coupons.
"So Sam, what are you going to do with your whole four days?"
Dean already had a plan. It was a very loose and simple plan but a plan nonetheless. He was going to party like a rock star until he either threw up or died. Then when he woke up, he was going to start all over again. Maybe even sleep between. Preferably next to a girl he had just met.
"Wanna hit the streets with me?" Dean grinned. "Paint the town red? All that crap?"
Sam smiled in that weird way he did when he was embarrassed or caught at doing something he considered ludicrous.
"Well, uh, there's some DVD stuff I've wanted to see but we never have time and I don't know, I think I might just hang out here and uh, watch it?"
Dean blinked. "Yer gonna use your days off to watch TV?"
Sam's flustered demeanor dropped and he suddenly seemed excited. "Not any TV..." He moved into the tidy living room with the white wall to wall carpeting and beige catalogue furniture. He picked up something off the glass beveled coffee table. "This!"
Dean looked at the DVD box.
Sam nodded in pleased seriousness.
Dean felt himself smiling right back. "Hey man, I loved that show!"
Dean checked his watch. It was an hour before nickel shots and he had some time to kill.
"Hell, why not." He shrugged off his jacket. "Put that baby on."
"What the hell is this?"
Dean wasn't a picky guy but when it came to his cheesy retro sci fi experiences, he expected what he expected. He wanted guys in silver plastic suits with synthesized voices. He wanted familiar theme music. Where the fuck was that fruity robot with Christmas lights in his fish bowl head? Where exactly was all the laser action complete with lame sound effects? Apollo had always been a pretty guy but come on! And those were cylons!? Dean was fairly sure no man should get hard for a killer robot no matter the T&A.
"Where the hell is Starbuck!?" Dean demanded.
"That is Starbuck." Sam explained.
"The chick??" Dean gasped in disbelief.
"Well, the remake is not exactly completely comparable to the original series." Sam began. "It was re-created for a more realistic and story drama approach with an emphasis on--"
"Oh my freakin' God." Dean got up in disgust. "I'm outta here."
Sam was too immersed in a mind numbing conversation going on screen about Colonial Fleet politics to even remind him to take a cab. Strangely enough, the absence of the reminder was almost as effective as if his brother had given it out loud. Leaving his keys behind so he could get properly wasted he took one more annoyed glance at the screen filled with fancy space ships doing boring things. If Dean wanted a realistic approach to his sci fi, he'd watch the goddamn Discovery Channel.
And drama? If he wanted drama he could just watch the news.
It was well past dawn when he returned.
It took him five tries before he got all the locks undone with the right keys to get back inside the house. There was an exciting few moments when he had completely forgotten the password for the security keypad that sat next to the door. However his memory, much like his alcohol tolerance, rarely let him down. Yawning and stretching, he considered a shower before hitting the hay, maybe even a bath in that huge tub he had spotted in the master bedroom on his first foray of the place--
There was the unmistakable sound of the television still on...
Dean glanced down at his watch. He had been gone for almost 18 hours and he was fairly certain that his brother was in the exact same spot he had left him in before he had fled to happy hour the evening before.
His brother finally noticed him and turned his head away from the television.
"Get any sleep?" Dean asked cautiously.
"They've lost 60% of the water supply." Sam said limply. "It was a terrorist."
Dean wondered at the statement.
"Uh, does that mean I can't take a shower?"
"They have to find it on a moon, maybe in ice form." Sam continued while pointing weakly towards the TV screen. "But water riots have started all over the fleet already."
"I see." Dean nodded slowly with no understanding. "Well, good luck with that? I'm goin' to bed."
He glanced over at the firmly shut curtains that blocked out the sunlight.
"It's almost noon dude."
The day came and went and Dean didn't open his eyes again until it was dark. He sat up in bed pleased that his new sleeping cycle allowed him to wake right into evening play time. He kicked off his blankets and wandered down the hall to look into the open door of the room his brother had staked claim to. It was empty and the bed was still as neatly made as when they had first gotten there.
Dean got dressed and wandered down the stairs already knowing what he'd see. He thought maybe it was time to bring Sam some food and water. Maybe a bucket so he didn't have to travel all the way to the bathroom.
"Mornin'!" He called out. "Or um, evenin' I guess. How goes the good ole Galactic fight? Did the blonde cylon lose her top yet--"
"No no, we have to go!"
The TV set was dark and Sam was in a half panic trying to get his sneakers on.
Dean immediately picked up on his alarm. "Why what?"
"Just quick, we have to go!" His brother was fumbling for his jacket and was already half out the door.
Dean flipped out his keys and hurriedly followed him out to the car. Swiftly getting in, he rolled over the engine as his brother shoved himself into the passenger seat.
Dean peeled out onto the street. "Where? What's going on?!"
"Take a left up here, and then a right!" Sam instructed, his voice tense and on edge.
"Why, what's up here?"
"Do you have a credit card on you?!"
"Yeah, what the fuck is going on?" Dean was feeling his younger brother's nervous panic and it was making him snap right back. "Where are we going?!"
Dean looked over at him. "Huh?"
"THEY SHOT HIM."
"They who?! Who got shot?!"
"COMMANDER ADAMA OF THE COLONIAL FLEET."
"Commander Adama." Dean repeated calmly. "Of the Colonial Fleet."
"Do you think Walmart will have Season Two?!" Sam ran his hands through his unkempt hair. "Maybe we should go to a mall?!"
"Maybe we should get you a strong coffee and a paper bag."
"And Boomer!" Sam sagged into his seat, his face in his hands. "Her baby Dean! What will happen to Boomer's baby!"
"Wait..." Dean felt his teeth clench. "Boomer is a chick too??"
"An Asian one."
"She's also a cylon." Sam added. "A secret one."
Dean sighed. He felt all that was sacred in his childhood snatches of tv afternoons disintegrate with each word.
"What about that creepy robot mechanical dog? Is that a fuckin' chick cylon too?!"
"No." Sam shook his head. "It's not even in the remake-- well um..."
"There's always Season Three?"